Early Morning Catastrophies
by germanbrothers
Summary: East and West were never supposed to cross paths...but what if they did? /Germancest, short historical drabble set pre-Berlin Wall


_A/N: I wrote this up as it's been in my head for a while! This one is from Gilbert's POV, but even better - when I discussed this concept with Girlfriend, she agreed to write the same fic - from Ludwig's POV. So when that is written I'll post it too!_

_I recommend reading this little drabble I wrote that might give you a bit of perspective from Gilbert's side, since it mentions it. It's super short! The fic is "Snapshots" on my profile and it's chapter 10._

_Okay, so the historical significance you need to know about this one before you begin: Berlin was divided into East & West in 1949, and up until 1961 when the Berlin Wall went up, there was no physical barrier between the sectors (save for check points) and the U & S-Bahn (Berlin's public subway/metro/etc system) travelled freely between East and West._

_Cars were full of both East & West Germans, as many people used the Bahn to live in the East and work in the West, visit family across both borders, and of course this made it very easy for East Germans to escape to the West if they so desired - hop on one stop, and hop off another into freedom. Approximately 3.5 million East Germans (about 20% of its population) had escaped to the West by 1961, a vast majority through the lenient borders between East & West Berlin and the easy access of the West made possibly by city transport._

_East Germany realized this massive emigration problem, and officially stopped public transport to West German stations in 1961 when the Berlin Wall went up._

* * *

[12 August 1961]

A morning doze on the U-Bahn had become a ritual. Gilbert worked nights, and he also worked days, and getting from one job to another was an exhausting trek in and out of East and West Berlin through its underground passages.

Gilbert found that he could sneak an extra fifteen minutes of a nap pretty easily on his last stretch by putting a newspaper in front of his face and passing out, and had conditioned himself to wake up just in time for his stop.

Today was no different. It was six thirty in the morning and the car was getting slammed with rush hour. Gilbert was in the middle of the train, the daily newspaper over his face as a silent (but deadly) warning to anyone who dared to disturb him.

Today was very different. Gilbert's sleeping mind was vaguely aware of the person to his right, and the people standing in front of him leaving and a new crowd of people getting on to take their place at a major transport stop, and vaguely felt the presence of /someone/ in front of him.

Eyes opened. He was staring at the black-and-grey of the newspaper. Slowly, very slowly, he took the newspaper with one hand and gently folded the corner of the newspaper over so one eye could see who was in front of him.

Gilbert couldn't see his face, since it too was hidden behind a Western newspaper, but it didn't take facial recognition for Gilbert to just know. He recognized Ludwig in his posture, in his fingers, in the way they held the paper in his grip —

Ludwig was about to lower the newspaper and Gilbert immediately raised his own in a black and grey shield.

_Why_, he asked himself.

Why here? Why this car? Why this time? Why right in front of him? Why wasn't he at home, swimming in money and power, or riding in his luxury cars built from capitalism and good fortune?

In a normal circumstance, in literally any other time in their centuries-old history, it would be cause to jump to his feet and greet the man. In literally any other time. But not now, not today. Gilbert had not seen his brother in over a decade, and their last words had not been pretty. Gilbert was angry, Ludwig was panicked. They were both tired. The war had been over for several years but the feelings lingered. Anger, betrayal, exhaustion, distrust. Prussia was gone and never coming back. Instead of dying he was kept alive like a human on life support as "East Germany." His city, his Berlin, his heart - hacked to pieces and distributed amongst those who didn't know, who didn't deserve it, who didn't understand -

Ludwig shifted, and Gilbert peered down past his knees underneath the newspaper to see that Ludwig had fucking turned to face him like the pretentious dick he was. Like he owned the six-inch radius in which he stood. What an asshole.

Gilbert slowly lowered the newspaper again. Ludwig's form was full, and he was wearing a beautiful, pressed suit that he just looked stunning in, but just as he glimpsed he saw that Ludwig had just raised his own over his face. Oh my god they were not playing this game, they were not-

Ludwig's paper started to lower again and Gilbert panicked, covering his face with his newspaper. God damn it, they were playing this game.

He waited an entire minute, and it was agonizing. He couldn't tell if it was the people around him or if it was Ludwig in front of him who were shuffling. Slowly, again, he lowered his newspaper so both eyes peered out over the top of it, expecting to see the weather and cover story but no…cool blue eyes met his red. Gilbert looking up, and Ludwig looking down. How fitting, Gilbert thought. There was a metaphor somewhere in this.

They had spotted another (not that they could continue the rest of the ride as they were - the tension would have killed Gilbert), and now someone had to do something. Ludwig moved first. He gently lowered his newspaper and folded it in half with one hand, not breaking eye contact. Gilbert did the same, placing the paper in his lap.

Shields were down. What was next?

Neither of them spoke a word, until finally the tension was snapped when Ludwig broke eye contact. He looked to his side, unable to continue staring into his brother's eyes.

In a normal circumstance this would be cause for alarm. _'Are you okay, Ludwig?' 'Is something wrong?' 'What's on your mind?'_ In the past, Gilbert had always been good at poking and prodding until he got into the deep recesses of Ludwig's brain. But this time, it was different.

Ludwig looked some kind of troubled and it made Gilbert seethe, his own insecurities bubbling to the surface. What was Ludwig seeing when he looked at Gilbert? Could Ludwig see that Gilbert had skipped breakfast that night - and had skipped breakfast for the past two weeks? Could he tell that Gilbert was sleep-deprived and running on nothing but instant coffee? Could he see that Gilbert hadn't had time to go the laundromat in a few weeks, and that he was in dire need of new shoes? Could he see the anger, the frustration, the exhaustion, and the desperation in his eyes?

Gilbert briefly thought back to that moment in 1947 - the last time he had ever seen Ludwig. He had just learned that Prussia was gone forever, wiped off the maps, to exist only in the annals of history, forever blamed for the shortcomings of his brother, and that, rather than being allowed a dignified death, he would be repurposed as "East Germany". He remembered his last words to Ludwig:

_"I'm leaving, before you destroy any more of me."_

Wasn't hindsight a bitch. It was not Ludwig who would destroy Gilbert, it would be Gilbert destroying himself.

Ludwig must be laughing at him. Maybe that's why he couldn't stare at him in the eyes?

But too much time had passed between them not speaking to one another. Someone had to say something, do something. Say something. Anything.

Gilbert knew it had to be him. Because it was always him. He who initiated everything, who put himself first. That's always how it was. Weak or strong, bitter or joyous, Gilbert knew enough of his brother to know exactly where this would go if he himself continued to keep his mouth shut.

"You're up early."

Jesus, this was going to be a disaster.

Ludwig's eyes slid over to gaze at him and he cleared his throat. "Usually I…get on a later train," he said cautiously, as if weighing every individual word on his tongue.

"Still run in the mornings?"

This was far too painful. To an outsider this might seem like former flatmates or old colleagues stumbling each other after a few years of losing touch. They spoke gently, using formal language and avoiding their familiar jargon. Nobody knew that it had been fourteen years, separated by political unrest and petty differences. Fourteen years, after centuries of barely being apart from one another. Gilbert, honestly, wondered how he had managed to do it.

"Y-yes," Ludwig said, glancing away for a moment before looking back to him. "I couldn't sleep last night, I suppose. So I went for an earlier run."

Gilbert gave a brief noise of acknowledgement and fell silent again, unsure of exactly how to respond. Thankfully, Ludwig was growing just a little bit more bold.

"How are things with you?"

"Ah…not bad…" A bold-faced lie.

Ludwig shifted on his feet and transferred the newspaper to his other hand. "They get you up early."

The small talk was torture. _I hate you! I love you! Take me back! I'm sorry! Get away from me! Please don't leave! I never want to see you again! I never want to leave your side! I'm sorry for what I said! I meant every word!_ These all swirled through Gilbert's head. He could pretend and act like he could do without Ludwig fine as long as the man wasn't centimetres from him…but now, it's opened old wounds, and his heart was bleeding out.

"Something like that," Gilbert simply said. He didn't say that he had been awake for the past eleven hours.

_"Broadcast: Now approaching the boarder of the German Democratic Republic,"_ the daily announcement that the next few stops would be out of the Western Zone announced overhead and Gilbert knew this was his chance.

He stood up as the train began to slow at the next station. It came to a stop with a sudden halt and Gilbert stumbled. He saw Ludwig start forward and reach out to catch him, dropping his newspaper on the ground in the process, but stopped forcefully with his hand floating just over Gilbert's hip. The Prussian recovered himself.

They were face-to-face now, bodies parallel to each other and faces so close that their breaths mingled together. Gilbert looked intensely into his brother's eyes, who gazed at him back, a mixture of alarm and loss on his face.

_I love you,_ he wanted to say. _I still do. I never stopped. I miss you, and I am sorry, and I want you back, even if you don't, even if you have moved on and don't need me dragging you down. Please don't be angry, please don't hate me, please don't judge me, please see me as who I once was, long ago - _

The words were in his throat, and he opened his mouth:

"This is my stop."

It was not his stop. It also wasn't what he wanted to say. However, he couldn't make the words manifest. They were stuck, like a lump in the throat of a grieving, lonely man.

Ludwig simply nodded, gulping harshly. "Goodbye, Gilbert."

"…Goodbye." His feet moved before he wanted them to, and he made it off the car just in time for the doors to close between them. The train rolled off, and Gilbert did his best not to stand there and try and catch a glimpse at the closure and redemption that disappeared with the train.

His usual stop was several blocks away, and at this rate he would be late to work, but at that moment, Gilbert didn't much care. He walked at a leisurely, thoughtful pace to his day job with the government, reflecting over the train ride.

* * *

The rest of the day was a haze that Gilbert hardly remembered. He spoke to individuals, wrote up a report, crunched some numbers in somewhere, read some reports, whatever. By the end of the work day, he drudged back home, hoping and fearing that Ludwig might be on his train home again, but no such luck.

That evening, in a haze of frustration and vodka, Gilbert made a resolve - he would find Ludwig again. He would take the later train, he would find that son of a bitch, shake him silly, and they would resolve this. They would talk. They would be what they once were. Brothers! Lovers! Partners! Two sides of the same! That is what they were, they simply could not exist as anything else. If he didn't find Ludwig on the train then damn it, he would walk his broke ass over to the West and confront him at his work. He would do it. He had to do it - for his own sanity.

His night job was a short walk away and it could not go fast enough. Then, Gilbert sprinted over to the nearest U-Bahn station, where he was met with a large crowd outside, reading a large bulletin posted.

_"ATTENTION: SERVICE HALTED INTO WEST"_

It was a list of changes made to the track service - including a complete severance from any and all stations and tracks in West Germany.

"I saw them build a wall." "How will I see my mother now?" "How will I get to work?" "This cannot be!"

People around him were frightened, outraged, but Gilbert felt strangely hollow. No service to the West. No chance for his West to be on any train. None at all. Complete severance. They were building a wall (he specifically remembered his bosses telling him there would be no wall).

No passage through the West. It was over, he realized. There would be no hope, no chance of redemption or rekindled bonds.

Just as yesterday he was still alone, but somehow, he felt far more isolated than before.


End file.
